I went to dinner with my friend tonight.
We had a pizza, drank Sangria – though the red wine was too strong for me – in an Italian restaurant in La Rambla del Raval.
We listened to M.’s boyfriend, who’s half Chilean-half Italian, talk about Italy and South America, only further fueling my desire to visit these places.
M. and I were wistful and not as cheerful and lively as usual.
We’re trying to tell ourselves that this is our last week in Barcelona and we have to enjoy every second of it, but the thought of leaving soon keeps us from fully appreciating the moments.
Can’t fight nostalgia.
How can we be nostalgic when we s till are in Barcelona is beyond my understanding.
We decided to go to dance, but every music I hear, every club I go to, is connected to a memory I shared with someone who left and that I love and miss.
Then there is another point that makes this whole journey somewhat bittersweet: You go abroad, you live this intense experience, meet new people that you grow to love as if they were family. And by love I mean L.O.V.E. with all your heart and soul. Then they leave. You cry RIVERS. They say they love you to death, claim they’ll miss you “so much”, and promise they’ll keep in touch in every way possible, but you never hear from them again. Or you rarely do: briefly, when YOU are the one reaching out. Or even worse yet, when they’re drunk.
You realize that the love may not have been reciprocal.
I open my heart too easily. What happened to me, I didn’t use to be like that. But no regrets.
An author once wrote: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened”. And I have been trying to apply that rule for a few weeks now, though it’s hard for me to comprehend how can two people share a part of life together and as soon as one leaves the country, it’s over. Like nothing had ever existed. (And I’m only talking about friendship here, not even love.)
Anyways. It has been a beautiful experience. I’ve had the time of my LIFE, and, like all good things come to an end, it’s almost time to close this chapter of mi vida.
I can’t even put into words what it feels like. The heartbreak is real.